


run away and hide with you

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Coloring, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Daddy/little - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Little Headspace, M/M, Nice Peter, Peter to the rescue, Stiles has Daddy Issues, nonsexual age play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-09-10 13:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Stiles has been taking care of himself for far too long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NinaRooxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinaRooxx/gifts).



> I loved writing this. I put a lot of heart into it, and I hope it shows.
> 
> MUCH love and thanks to Dena for holding my hand through this.

The first thing Stiles notices when he comes in the door are the smells: garlic and onion and one of the green herbs Stiles can't remember the name of. Scents that make his stomach rumble and his mouth water.

He toes off his shoes and looks across the living room to the kitchen. The floorplan is open, so he has a good view of Peter standing at the stove, his back to Stiles, a towel thrown casually over his shoulder. 

"Hey, it's me," Stiles says, as if Peter would still be standing there completely unconcerned if it was anyone else. Peter turns his head, looks over his shoulder at him, and smiles.

It's not Peter's sharp, predatory smile or his smugly satisfied 'I just got one over on the entire planet' smile, either. This one is fond and soft and the most devastating because of it. And while Stiles does recognize Peter is objectively attractive, and is by now mostly at peace with his own attraction to Peter's _everything_ , Stiles is taken off guard (once again) by his other reaction, the emotional one. 

Stiles waves awkwardly, then runs away from his feelings and into his room to change.

 _His room_. In Peter's apartment. It was weird when Peter first told him about it, showed it to him, but by now Stiles has come to appreciate that he has a place in Peter's life like this, that Peter set aside a space just for Stiles. Literally and figuratively, to be honest.

He has a dresser, filled with his own things, shirts and comfortable sweats and flannel pajama pants. Peter's even bought underwear for him, which is weird but not so much. The fact that Peter does his laundry and folds and puts his things away in his dresser is… much more than Stiles would or does expect from anyone, including his own father.

Normally Stiles has no problem thinking on several planes at once, but this one catches his attention enough that he has to sit on the end of his bed, soft t-shirt in hand, to follow it. It does have a natural conclusion, right? It doesn't take much thinking to come to it, either. Peter has been almost aggressively parenting him for weeks now. Since school let out for summer and Stiles suddenly had a lot more time on his hands.

Peter has been a solid figure. He's given him a place to hang out, to just be, when his own house is too quiet and empty and Scott is busy. Peter's fed him. Made it clear he'll listen if Stiles has anything to say. And most importantly, Peter is someone Stiles doesn't have to worry about or look after, the way Stiles feels he has to do with everyone else in his life he cares about.

Stiles ignores the way his hands have started shaking and tugs the shirt over his head. He's grateful for Peter, and he suddenly wants to let him know, but if he says any words to that effect they will probably crack and humiliate him completely. But Peter doesn't usually need words; that's another good point about this weird friendship/relationship they have going. 

So Stiles walks out into the kitchen and stands a few feet away, watching Peter spoon food onto plates. When Peter's done, Stiles comes closer to him and just lets himself _lean_.

Peter doesn't pull away or give him a funny look. Maybe he knows what Stiles is thinking, or maybe he can sense it. He puts an arm around Stiles and it doesn't seem strange or uncomfortable — just the opposite. Like it's something they've been doing all along.

Maybe they should have been. It feels-

Safe, and Stiles turns into Peter's body, his chin down, not meeting Peter's eyes. His fingers clench in the fabric of his shirt — not a v-neck today but one with buttons that press against Stiles's palm. Is it childish to want to hold on so tightly? To find this much comfort?

Peter kisses his forehead, like it's totally the most natural thing in the world to do. Maybe it is, now.

"Why are you doing this?" Stiles whispers, a little lost.

"Doing what, sweetheart?" Peter asks. He sounds concerned. It's the first time he's called him something other than his name. Stiles likes it. Likes how the word sounds, how Peter says it. Like Stiles is something precious.

He takes a breath and lets it out, shaky and nervous. "Why are you being so good to me?"

Peter wraps his other arm around Stiles so he's holding him securely. "Because someone needs to."

Stiles ignores the implications of that for just a moment. He doesn't want to think about who hasn't been taking care of him. "And you want to be that someone?"

One hand strokes over Stiles's hair and Peter hums. "I do. You've let me so far."

"You're good at it," Stiles says quietly.

"Thank you," Peter says, a smile in his voice.

"...And is this all you want?" Stiles asks.

Silence reigns for a few moments, but Peter cards his fingers through Stiles's hair like he's thinking. Finally, he says, "I only want what you're comfortable with."

Stiles takes a deep breath. It's shaky but it doesn't matter.

He's not sure what he wants. 

"Let me think about it," Stiles says.

Peter nods and kisses his forehead again. His lips linger this time and Stiles is torn between wanting to turn his face to kiss him for real, and letting this moment draw out, chaste and parental.

God, how fucked up would it be if Stiles let Peter continue to parent him but kiss him breathless at the same time?

How fucked up is it that Stiles wants that? Enough that Stiles needs to back off and think. He pulls away and looks into Peter's eyes. They're kind and caring, so different than how he looks at other people. Stiles likes being special like that.

"Do you still want to eat?" Peter asks. "I could put some in a tupperware for you if you would rather go."

"I'll stay," Stiles says. "I want to eat with you. I like… that." Sharing meals is special. His dad is rarely home at the right hour to eat a meal with Stiles anymore. Eating with Peter, on the other hand, happens so often it's practically part of their routine.

Dinner is a pasta alfredo with chicken, one of Stiles's favorite meals. Peter tells him about the sauce when Stiles asks, that it's his mother's recipe, and mentions he can teach him how to make it, "So next time, we can make it together."

Not so Stiles can make it on his own. Not so he can make it for his father. Peter wants to share the recipe so they can do something else together, something they both enjoy. And the recipe is a piece of his family, and therefore a piece of himself that Peter is sharing.

Stiles likes that.

Peter asks about his day. Stiles didn't do much except wait until it was time to go to Peter's, really. He doesn't admit that out loud but Peter seems to know anyway.

"You're always welcome, you know. You don't have to come over at a certain time. Just whenever you'd want."

"If I did that, I'd never leave," Stiles says, then shoves another forkful of pasta in his mouth so he doesn't reveal anything _else_.

Peter just inclines his head, smiling. "I can't say I'd hate that, either."

His phone beeps. Stiles frowns and looks at who the message is from. It's his dad, asking where he is. Apparently he came home to an empty house. Stiles tells him he's at a friend's for dinner, and that he'll be home soon. 

When he looks up after putting his phone away, he sees Peter is watching him. "Sorry," Stiles says, because his table manners are deplorable, as Peter has said occasionally, and checking texts while at dinner is probably one of those things he's not supposed to do.

"You have to leave?" Peter asks.

Stiles nods, biting his lip. "I don't want to. But... yeah."

"Do what you have to do," Peter says. "But come back when you need to. Or just when you want."

Stiles meets his smile with one of his own, small and grateful. "Yeah, okay." He gets up from the table and Peter walks him to the door. 

Before he walks out, he gives Peter a hug. It's not a long one, but it's still comforting and makes Stiles feel warm inside.

He can't remember the last time he hugged his father just because he was walking out the door.

* * *

The differences at his house, with his father, are stark. When he comes in the door, there's no scent of food, but that's to be expected. His father doesn't cook. That's Stiles's job, when the situation calls for it.

Stiles notices he needs to dust the living room, and there are crumbs on the floor near his father's chair that need to be vacuumed. 

Back when he was just learning to take care of the house, it was difficult. He had to make charts and schedules at first. He had to set timers to remind himself what he was doing, because he would wander off and forget the stove was on or that the clothes needed moving from the washer to the dryer. He burned a lot of dinners those first months, and had to rewash many loads of laundry to get the gross moldy smell out of them.

But he learned because he had to. His father was no good to anyone, not even himself, after Stiles's mom died. Stiles learned to ignore the way his father coped with the loss, by working overtime to get himself out of the house, or by drinking when he was home. Stiles could have gotten lost in there somewhere, without a parent left to take care of his needs, but Stiles learned to take care of himself.

He doesn't need someone to take care of him anymore. He's lived without it long enough. But now that Peter has been filling that space up again in his life he realizes just how damn nice it is to relax and not have to worry quite so much.

And Peter makes it so he can sit back and breathe and just be. He can even pretend he's a kid again, for a few minutes at a time. He hasn't mentioned that to Peter yet, but he thinks he will. It feels like something he should share.

"Stiles, have you seen my blue striped shirt?" his father asks when Stiles finds him upstairs.

"Nope. Got a hot date?" Stiles asks with a grin.

His father rolls his eyes. "Not even close. Brunch with the mayor tomorrow and I was specifically told not to wear my uniform."

"I don't know where it is, sorry," Stiles says. He walks back to his room and realizes he's still wearing the soft tee from Peter's house. It's not that big a deal, but he likes to wear the clothes Peter got him there, not here. It helps keep his life compartmentalized. 

"Found it!" his father calls out several minutes later. 

Stiles shrugs to himself and calls out, "Okay!"

But then he finds his father at his door, holding the blue striped shirt. "It's dirty." He looks confused.

A bubble of irritation floats to the surface. "So wash it," Stiles grits out.

His father frowns and looks at the shirt dubiously. "Right. Wash it. I can do that."

"I have every confidence you can," Stiles lies. He opens his laptop and sighs as his father leaves and he hears him trudge downstairs, muttering to himself.

* * *

"It doesn't look right," his father says two hours later. The wrinkled shirt has obviously been laundered, but he's right.

"Needs ironing," Stiles tells him.

His father looks dismayed. 

"Don't worry," Stiles says, hiding his sigh. "I'll do it for you. Go on to bed, you look beat. I'll leave it hanging on your doorknob when I'm done."

"Oh, thank god," the sheriff says.

It's no big deal. Stiles is used to doing housework. He's used to doing the dishes and the cooking and the cleaning and the laundry. He's used to taking it all on himself. But for some reason, lately it's more irritating than usual.

Maybe because with Peter, Stiles finally has someone taking care of _him_ and he knows what it's like. Maybe because Peter is a better-

Nope. He's not going there.

* * *

"He's not awful," Stiles tells Peter the next day. They're sitting side by side on the sofa and Stiles rests his head on Peter's shoulder.

"Did I say anything?" Peter asks. 

"I don't want to replace him, okay?" Stiles says. "I just really like how it is between us and I want more, and yeah, I know it's weird but I don't care."

Peter reaches up and strokes his cheek. "Do you want me to tell you what I want, now?"

Stiles snuggles impossibly closer and nods his head. "Yes."

"I like taking care of you. I want to keep doing that. I want to be able to do more for you, take you places, spend money on you. But I want to take care of you in other ways, too." He slides a hand over Stiles's thigh.

Stiles shivers and licks his lips. "Yeah. I… I want that, too."

Peter turns his head and kisses Stiles's forehead. "My sweet boy."

"And can I… I want to…" Stiles tilts his head up, hears his voice go soft and breathy without meaning it to. "Can I call you Daddy? Sometimes?"

Peter smiles. Drops a soft kiss on his lips. "If that's what you want, sweetheart."

"I feel funny like this," Stiles says quietly. "Like everything's soft and I'm young. Safe, I guess."

"You'll always be safe with me," Peter says.

* * *

They don't do much right away. Stiles isn't ready, is just settling into this with Peter, and 'more' isn't yet on their agenda.

But the next night Stiles sleeps over, when the sheriff is working another triple shift and catching naps at the station, Stiles knocks on Peter's door once he's gotten ready for bed. He's showered and in soft pajamas. His teeth are freshly brushed.

Peter's door isn't closed all the way but Stiles is feeling shy when he knocks. Peter opens it wide and smiles. "Do you need something?"

"Can I sleep with you tonight, Daddy?" Stiles asks. The word is still unfamiliar on his tongue, but it feels right. "Just… to sleep."

Peter's expression softens even more and he nods, then pulls Stiles close. He inhales, breathing in Stiles's scent at his neck. "You're always welcome, sweetheart."

Stiles goes almost limp with contentedness.

In bed, Stiles cuddles close, and Peter holds him in his arms. Stiles has so many questions he can't sleep, though.

"What's on your mind?" Peter asks.

Stiles turns his face into Peter's chest, hiding a little. "Why are you doing this? I know you said because you thought someone should take care of me. But why do you want to be that person?"

Peter is still for a moment, and then he sighs. "There are a lot of reasons. I think it goes back to… well, a long time ago. I'm not sure you want to hear about it."

"I do," Stiles says. "But not if you're uncomfortable."

"My mother was Alpha, I don't think I've ever told you," Peter begins. Stiles shakes his head and waits for him to go on. "She died when I was ten. Before she died, I was… I guess just a normal boy. But once she died and my sister became Alpha, everything changed."

"I'm sorry you lost her," Stiles says quietly. "I know it doesn't make anything better, but…"

Peter squeezes him in a hug, a silent thanks. "My sister was older than me but still too young to run the pack alone. My father took up teaching her how to lead, and that was the most important thing to him. I was left to fend for myself after that. I wasn't mistreated, I don't want to say that. But I was ignored in favor of my sister. I was grieving for my mother and my father… well, he made sure I had toys and books and then left me alone. He was too busy with Talia to finish raising me."

"You were lonely," Stiles says. _And that seems very familiar._

"Very," Peter says. "But I was surrounded by pack all the time, and I had everything material I could ever ask for. Just not my mother, who was gone, or my father, who was too busy for me. I was angry, and I stayed angry for years. I broke a lot of things because nothing held value to me."

"Things?" Stiles asks.

"Toys, at first. Electronics. Later, I was careless with driving cars, and even more careless with people. I treated everything and everyone as if they were expendable. Worthless. Not my sister, because I always loved her even when I hated her, but everyone else for certain."

"What about when your sister had kids? Derek? Cora?" Stiles asks. He leaves out Laura, not knowing how to approach that subject.

"Derek… I wasn't kind to him, even when I should have been. Cora, I treated the best, I think. I was starting to see my nieces and nephew as people. I was gradually becoming less angry the more I grew up. But then…" Peter sighs again and cards his fingers through Stiles's hair. "Then I lost everything, including my mind."

"You have me, now," Stiles whispers. He knows he's not a fair replacement for all Peter has lost, but he can try. He can be there.

"I do. And I will never treat you like you are worthless," Peter says. "When you lose everything and have so little, you learn to appreciate what you have. I want to take care of you, make sure you're safe and content. I want to hold you, and be there for you when you're sad or angry, and watch you laugh when you're happy. I want to make you happy."

"But you could have chosen a different way to appreciate me," Stiles points out.

"I think this is something we both need," Peter says.

They're quiet for a long time after that, the only sounds Stiles can hear are their breaths and the soft thumping of Peter's heart beneath Stiles's ear.

"Sometimes when I come over and you're taking care of me, I feel… younger," Stiles says. "I don't know how to describe it."

"I think you've just described it perfectly," Peter says. "And that's something we can explore, if you want."

"What do you mean?" Stiles asks. "Do you know what it is?"

Peter squeezes him. "Sweetheart, I think you've had little opportunity to just be a kid in your life. I'm happy I make you feel safe enough to be that way. Maybe we can schedule some times for you to just play, with coloring books or toys or whatever you want when you get little."

"It sounds… good. Fun. I wanna think about it, but maybe. Probably," Stiles says.

"Alright. Do you think you can sleep now?" Peter asks.

"Lots to think about," Stiles says, then yawns. "But yeah."

"Close your eyes. Get some rest, baby."

"Night, Daddy," Stiles says.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

* * *

Stiles's father is rarely home these days. Stiles used to care. Which is what the present argument is about.

"No, it's not okay, Stiles!" his father says.

"I said it was. What's the problem?"

His father looks at him. Watches him. It's unnerving and Stiles doesn't like it. Doesn't feel the man has the right to try to figure him out.

He immediately feels guilty for thinking that.

"You haven't argued or complained about me being gone lately. Are you into something new I should be worried about?" his father asks.

"What? No!" Stiles says. "And even if I was, how is that even your business anymore?"

The sheriff's eyebrows go up. "How is it my _business_?"

Stiles realizes that sounds bad, but he sticks to it and raises his chin in defiance. "Yeah. You aren't here, you don't take care of me. You don't do anything for me except provide a roof over my head and money so I can buy clothes and food. You don't actually… _parent_ me. You never have."

And Stiles thought he was okay with that. He did. But now, with tears in his eyes as he glares at his father, he realizes he really isn't.

"Whoa," his father says. "You are so out of line you can't even see the lines."

"I don't think I am," Stiles says. "I think I've taken care of you more than you've ever taken care of me." A tear escapes and he wipes at his cheek with a trembling hand. He turns and heads toward the front door.

"Where do you think you're going? This is something we need to talk about."

"You have to get to work, remember?" Stiles says.

His father curses. Stiles leaves.

* * *

Peter isn't home when Stiles lets himself into the apartment. Stiles sends him a quick text and looks in the fridge for something to snack on. He's not really hungry, though. He'd rather sit and wallow. 

No, he'd rather cry on Peter's shoulder and let the man hold him.

Peter sends a text back, letting Stiles know he'll be home in the next half hour. Stiles decides to take a shower and dress in his most comfortable clothes. Clothes Peter bought for him personally.

Stiles showers, letting the water run hotter than he should. It turns his skin pink and tender, which makes it that much better to slip into his fuzzy pj pants and soft t-shirt.

By the time he's dressed, Peter is home. Stiles walks up to him, bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor. "Daddy?" he whispers.

And Peter opens his arms to him.

Stiles still manages to tuck his head under Peter's chin despite his height. It's safe here in Peter's arms. He can let go. He doesn't have to worry about anything because Peter will take care of it.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Peter says after some time holding him. He leads Stiles over to sit on the sofa, and doesn't complain when Stiles scrambles into his lap and lays his head down on his chest. It's not awkward, curling up on Peter's lap. It probably should be. It's just comfortable.

And Stiles is starting to feel small again. He doesn't want to talk about his bad day. But Daddy is asking so he'll tell.

"Fight. With the sheriff." Stiles doesn't want to call the man his dad or father right now.

"Do you need to talk about it?" Peter asks.

Stiles shakes his head. He sees a couple of coloring books on the coffee table and some markers. He looks at Peter. "Are those for me?"

Peter smiles. "They are. I bought them just for you."

Stiles feels his heart swell. "Thank you, Daddy," he says, and hugs Peter tightly. 

"You can color any time you want," Peter says.

"Can I just look first?" Stiles asks.

Peter nods his head and Stiles reaches out. It's too far away so he sits on the floor by Peter's feet instead. He pulls a coloring book closer and examines it. "The Avengers! Captain America!" he exclaims. "Ooh, and stickers, too!"

He looks up and grins at Peter, who leans down and pets his head. It feels good when his daddy cards his fingers through Stiles's hair. 

Stiles likes how he feels. Floaty, kinda, and safe. Young, too. He knows he's little right now, and that he's not always little. He knows Peter's his daddy, but that Peter's not always his daddy. 

"I wish you were my daddy all the time," Stiles tells him. He shows him a Hulk sticker.

Peter smiles. "Is Hulk your favorite? Or Captain America?"

Stiles turns back to his books and turns the pages. "I like them all, but not Thor very much. He needs to learn to use his words," Stiles says. "Black Widow is awesome, too. But I like Iron Man the best. He's smart, and funny, and he acts like a big meanie sometimes but he doesn't mean it. Like you."

Peter laughs. "I assure you, when I act like a 'big meanie', I most definitely mean it."

"Nahh, not really," Stiles says earnestly. "You're a big marshmallow inside."

"Only to you, sweetheart," Peter says.

"What about you, Daddy? Who's your favorite Avenger?" Stiles asks.

"I like Loki," Peter says.

Stiles scrunches his nose. "Loki's not an Avenger, he's the bad guy!"

"Hmm, is he really? I could probably make my case and show you he's not so bad," Peter says, "but that's for another day. Today I will only tell you that Loki in the comics isn't always a villain. Plus, what's fun about someone who's good all the time?"

Stiles collapses into a fit of giggles. He knows why it's funny for Peter to say that. Peter's only good sometimes, though with Stiles lately he's always good. When Stiles looks up at him, he sees Peter's smiling down at him fondly. 

"Do you wanna color with me?" Stiles asks, picking up a marker. "Maybe there's a Loki page."

"How about this: you color, and I'll make you a snack," Peter says.

Stiles bites his lip, thinking. "Cookies?"

Peter nods.

" _Peanut butter_ cookies?" Stiles asks.

"I don't have any, but I think I could probably make some," Peter says.

Stiles takes a deep breath because he loves making cookies! "Can I make some with you, Daddy?"

"I thought you wanted to color," Peter says with a smile.

Stiles sucks on his bottom lip instead of biting it. He looks at his coloring books. Then looks at Peter. "Can I do both?"

Peter laughs. "How about I get all the ingredients ready for peanut butter cookies, and you color. And when I'm ready, I'll come get you and you can make cookies with me. Okay?"

Stiles hugs Peter's legs. "Okay, Daddy. Thank you."

Peter gives him a kiss on the top of the head before he leaves the room, and Stiles gets to coloring a picture of Iron Man and Captain America. In it, Captain America looks like he can fly, but Stiles knows he can't. He can jump out of planes and live, though! Without a parachute! 

Stiles loses track of time. He colors intently, using all the right colors for Iron Man's suit. He wishes the red wasn't quite _so_ red. He ends up getting red marker all over his fingers, too. And the yellow, but it doesn't show up as much.

Hmm, he thinks. Maybe he can put other colors on his fingers and pretend he's a superhero. Like a mutant with blue skin like one of the X-Men!

"Stiles, it's time… Oh, well. I see you've gotten more marker on your skin than the coloring books."

"I'm a mutant!" Stiles says, showing off one hand half colored in blue.

"And I'm ever so thankful I bought washable markers," Peter says. "I don't think you should make cookies with hands like that, do you?" 

Stiles frowns, looks at his hands, and shakes his head. "Prob'ly not."

"Let's go into the bathroom, then," Peter says.

"To the bathroom!" Stiles says excitedly, remembering he's supposed to be a superhero. He gets up suddenly and runs into the bathroom and turns on the water in the sink. There's some hand soap for kids on the edge of the sink, the kind that smells good. 

"Look, Daddy!" Stiles says, showing the soap to Peter. "It's the kind that makes bubbles?"

"It foams, yes," Peter says. "Watch. Hold out your hands." Stiles dutifully holds out his hands and Peter squeezes fragrant foam onto them. "Want help washing?"

Stiles is big enough to wash his own hands, but he kinda likes when Daddy does things for him, so he nods. 

Peter washes his hands, gets all the marker off, "like magic, Daddy!"

"Because they're washable markers," Peter corrects.

Stiles giggles and tilts his head back up to kiss Peter's mouth. "Thank you," he whispers.

Peter smiles. It's a pretty smile, wide and happy, and it makes Stiles feel so warm and glowy inside. 

"Time to make cookies?" Stiles asks hopefully.

"Yes, sweetheart," Peter says. He gives him a quick hug and leads him out to the living room. "But first we put your coloring books and markers away. I'll get the markers, but you straighten the books, okay?"

Stiles nods and picks up his picture of Iron Man. "Look at what I did," he says. 

"That's very nice," Peter says. "I like how bright the colors are."

"It needs a sticker!" Stiles says, and finds a matching Iron Man sticker. He sticks it up on the corner of the page, like teachers do when a picture is good. "Daddy, can we put it up somewhere? Can I put it in my room, on the wall?"

"Finish straightening your coloring books and then we'll put your things away, and then we can put your picture on your wall."

Stiles beams. He was worried it would be too much to ask. But his room is his room, just like Daddy said when he first gave it to him. "Okay!"

They put Stiles's coloring books and markers away in a drawer beside the sofa. Stiles holds his picture in one hand and takes Peter's hand with his other. Peter pulls some tape out of somewhere (maybe he's magic after all) and leads Stiles to his room. 

"Where do you want to put it?" Peter asks.

Stiles looks around the room, but his eyes fall on his bed. Propped against the pillow is a little plush red fox. "Daddy!" Stiles screeches, and runs to his bed, picking up the fox and hugging it. "Is this mine? Is he for me?"

Peter nods. "I saw him and thought you'd like him. Do you want to name him?"

Stiles sits on the bed and puts the fox on his lap, scrutinizing his little pointy nose and black eyes. "Stark," he says. "Because he's red like Iron Man but he's soft and squishy."

Stiles opens his arms up for Peter and Peter sits beside him on the bed. Stiles scrambles into his lap and hugs him tightly. "Thank you thank you thank you, Daddy."

Peter laughs quietly. He holds on to Stiles and hugs back. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

"Can Stark help us bake cookies?" Stiles asks.

"Do you think he can stay out of the dough until the cookies are baked?" Peter asks him, smile tugging at his lips.

Stiles looks at Stark. "He's a fox. He might be sneaky. Maybe he can stay on the counter… or in the living room?"

"It's up to you," Peter says.

"Hmm. In the living room. That way we can watch him while we bake and he won't get lonely 'cause he can see us, too!"

"That's smart, sweetheart. Okay. Go sit him down in the living room and meet me in the kitchen," Peter says.

Stiles grins and gives him a smacking kiss on the cheek, then runs to put Stark in the living room, on the chair facing the kitchen. "You stay right here while me and Daddy make cookies, okay?" he tells his fox, and gives him one last hug before he meets Peter in the kitchen.

Stiles loves making cookies with Peter. Peter doesn't mind if he makes a mess, and Stiles knows he doesn't have to worry about cleanup. Either Peter will clean up or they'll do it together. Stiles doesn't have to be responsible for anything here except being good and doing what his daddy says.

And if Daddy says to crack the egg carefully, Stiles does it. When Daddy says he can mix up the dough with his fingers if he wants, Stiles grins and wiggles his fingers in the dough, squeezing and mixing and getting his hands all sticky. It's okay, Peter says, because his hands were just washed and they're clean. Well, they _were_ clean.

From time to time, Stiles looks over to check on his fox. He asks Stark if he's okay and comfy, and tells him what they're doing.

Peter watches him with a fond smile that only grows wider when Stiles smiles back.

* * *

After the baking is done, Stiles is covered in flour. Peter says he'll clean up the kitchen if Stiles wants to take a bath.

"I took a shower already today," Stiles pouts.

"But I got you some bubble bath," Peter says, and Stiles's pout is forgotten. "It's under the sink. Can you do it yourself, or do you want help?"

Stiles has an idea. He wants lots and lots and LOTS of bubbles. He can do that himself. "I'll do it!" he tells Peter. "And then… you'll check on me later?"

Peter nods. Stiles hugs him and runs off to grab Stark so they can talk in the bathroom. "Thanks, Daddy!"

There are three different kinds of bubble bath. Stiles has a moment of wanting to use them ALL but he doesn't want to get in _too_ much trouble. He's planning on using lots and lots of bubble bath but not that much.

"I don't think you should take a bath, Stark," Stiles tells his fox. "Then you'd have to dry off and it'd take a long time… and I want you to be comfy when it's time for bed."

He jabbers for awhile at his fox while he fixes his bath. Not too hot, but definitely not cold. He knows how to fix the taps just right. He's sure Peter would know how, too, but Stiles wants all the bubbles to be a surprise. 

Once the water is running, Stiles dumps half the big bottle of bubble bath into the tub, under the running water. Then he strips out of his comfy clothes and gets in the tub and starts swishing the water around really hard to make even _more_ bubbles.

Soon there are bubbles everywhere and Stiles is feeling very pleased with himself. He makes himself a bubble crown and a bubble cape. The bubbles keep sliding off but that's fine, he has plenty.

"I see you found the bubble bath with no trouble," Peter says, standing in the doorway. 

"Daddy look I'm a prince!" Stiles says, showing off his bubble crown.

"A very handsome prince," Peter says. "Can I come in?"

Stiles nods his head, losing his bubble crown and giggling. "You're the king. Do you want a crown, too?" 

Peter inclines his head. He sits on the side of the tub and scoops up some bubbles. "I would look amazing in a crown."

Stiles giggles more, then crowns Peter's head with a glob of bubbles. "There! King Peter of Beacon!"

Peter puts some more bubbles on Stiles's head, too. "And Prince Stiles of Beacon. What is Stark?" he asks, and they both look over at the fox sitting on top of the toilet paper roll. 

"Oh, he's my bodyguard. He'll bite anybody who's mean to me," Stiles tells him.

"So will I, sweetheart," Peter says, snapping his teeth playfully.

Stiles laughs. "Thank you for all the stuff you got me, Daddy."

"It's not much yet, but I want you to feel comfortable and be able to have fun when you come over," Peter answers. 

Stiles struggles with the right words. His mouth works but he doesn't know how to say a big enough thank you. "You're a good daddy," he finally says. 

"I'm trying to be." Peter reaches over and strokes a bit of bubbles off Stiles's cheek. "It helps that you're such a good little boy."

Stiles feels like he's lighting up inside. "You really think so?"

"You're very easy to love," Peter tells him. 

It's enough to make Stiles turn pink. 

"But you still have flour everywhere and I think just playing with the bubbles isn't enough to get you clean," Peter says. 

Stiles makes a face.

"How about you dunk your head and I'll wash your hair for you? Would you like that?"

"Okay," Stiles says, and leans back in the big tub. It's big enough for two people, let alone just him, and it's deep enough that he can easily wet his hair.

Peter pours shampoo in his hand and shows Stiles it says 'tear-free' on the side of the bottle. Stiles doesn't know why it makes him so happy when his daddy takes care of him, and but he knows it has something to do with when he's big. It doesn't matter right now. 

Peter rubs Stiles's head, lathers the shampoo. His fingers feel good against Stiles's scalp. It's enough to make Stiles close his eyes and tilt his head back, humming happily as his daddy washes his hair. 

"Good boy," Peter says. "That's right. Just let Daddy take care of you."

Stiles wriggles and smiles at the praise. "Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome, sweet boy."

"Stark can't have a bath, he's too soft and squishy, he'd be wet forever and take forever to dry," Stiles tells him.

"That's true. Maybe we can get you a special friend just for bath time, though," Peter says. "Would you like that?"

Stiles opens his eyes and looks at his daddy. "No, 'cause then Stark would feel bad. How 'bout a friend to keep him company when I'm taking a bath, or when I'm doing other stuff?"

Peter nods. "What kind of friend, do you think?"

"A wolf!" Stiles says. "Like you."

"Do you want me to try to find the best wolf?" Peter asks. 

Stiles bites his lip and shakes his head. He looks up at Peter. "Maybe find a wolf that's lonely the most and bring him home to Stark."

Peter's eyes go soft. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

* * *

Stiles spends the night again. In his headspace he's little when he goes to sleep, but in the morning he's big again. He lies in bed next to Peter, enjoying the near-silence of the early hour. Peter's clock says it's six. Stiles feels better than he has in months. Better rested. Calm. Content.

He slips out of bed and into the bathroom. He takes a leak and splashes water on his face. He has two toothbrushes. One is his regular blue Oral-B brush and the other is a spinbrush with Scooby-Doo on the handle. It makes him smile. It also makes him feel warm to think he's welcome either way.

He picks up the 'adult' toothbrush and brushes his teeth quickly. Then he looks down at his clothes — soft, fluffy pajamas with rocketships on them, something his little self loved but he's feeling a little embarrassed to be in at the moment. 

He goes into his own room and changes into boxers and a soft t-shirt. Then he slips back into Peter's room and into the bed again.

Peter pulls him close and opens his eyes. "Good morning."

Stiles kisses his lips and smiles. "Good morning to you, too."

"Did you have a good time yesterday? It seemed like you did," Peter asks.

"I really did," Stiles tells him, and wants to gush, wants to thank him profusely, wants to hug him and never let go. "But… was it weird for you? I mean, it was a lot of me being little and you having to be the daddy. Was it too much?"

Peter huffs and pulls Stiles into his arms. "I like taking care of you. I like seeing you happy and free to be yourself, whether that self is big or little. It was perfect. And I'm so proud of you."

Stiles smiles, rubbing his cheek against Peter's skin, over his heart. "Proud?"

"You were able to let go for a long time, to just be little and happy and that makes me happy, too."

"And you like me like that?" Stiles asks curiously.

"I do. I think you're an adorable little boy and it made me feel good to share that with you. Especially when I was able to take care of you and give you the kind of attention you needed."

Stiles turns in his arms just a little and props his chin on his folded hands. "But you like me like this, too, right?"

"Stiles," Peter says seriously. "Of course I do. I like you very much."

"Okay," Stiles says, and drops a kiss onto Peter's chest. "Thank you. For making me feel safe. For giving me a place I can be vulnerable."

Peter takes his face in his hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. "You'll always be safe with me."

It's not that he never thought it before, but it still takes him by surprise. So much that he blurts it out. "I love you."

Peter sucks in a breath and looks at him, just as wide eyed as Stiles.

"I didn't mean to say that out loud," Stiles says quickly.

"I love you, too," Peter says. Almost wonderingly.

Stiles worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. He should feel great after that, but… "Are you _in_ love with me? Or is it just… you know?"

Peter kisses him. He whispers, "I am head over heels, sweetheart."

Stiles exhales in relief and happiness. "Yeah. Me too." 

This time when they kiss, it doesn't end until they're both panting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts raining before Stiles gets to Peter's apartment. Not just raining, but pouring down, so that the moment Stiles gets out of his Jeep to walk into Peter's building, he's drenched head to toe. It's coming down so hard it soaks through his overshirt and t-shirt to his skin. By the time he gets inside and to Peter's door, he's shivering and he wants to cry.
> 
> Peter meets him at the door, takes one look at him, and says, "Oh, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I thought this needed another chapter.

His day is going horribly, really. 

He gets into a fight with Scott in the morning, gets a D on a paper he worked extra hard on (he swears his new English teacher is related to Harris somehow), and then when he gets home his dad is there and asking where he slept the night before, because it certainly wasn't there. (He's right, because Stiles slept at Peter's. He sleeps at Peter's most nights, these days.)

Stiles stomps out of the house. He knows it's immature but he's allowed sometimes. He's still a teenager. (A few months ago, he'd never let himself act like this. He'd force himself to be the adult.)

It starts raining before Stiles gets to Peter's apartment. Not just raining, but pouring down, so that the moment Stiles gets out of his Jeep to walk into Peter's building, he's drenched head to toe. It's coming down so hard it soaks through his overshirt and t-shirt to his skin. By the time he gets inside and to Peter's door, he's shivering and he wants to cry.

Peter meets him at the door, takes one look at him, and says, "Oh, darling."

Once Stiles is inside, he turns to Peter and says, "Can you… I mean, will you take care of me?" It's the first time he's asked outright. He's never really had to ask before. Peter always takes care of him. But asking this, it's hard, but it tells Peter what he needs. And he really, really needs this.

"Of course, baby," Peter says. "Always."

Stiles lets out a shuddering sigh and nods. It's a relief.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" Peter asks.

Stiles shrugs. Peter unbuttons the cuffs of Stiles's shirt and starts pulling it off. "I will always be here for you. You're my good boy and that will never change."

"Promise?" Stiles asks.

Peter pauses and takes Stiles's chin in his hand. "I will _always_ take care of you."

Stiles sniffles and tries to hold back his tears. He doesn't feel like a good boy. He doesn't feel like someone Peter would want to take care of. His life is a mess and he is barely holding his head above water. 

"What's this, baby?" Peter asks, thumbing tears away from Stiles's eyes. "Bad day?"

"The worst," Stiles says. 

"Let's get you warmed up and dry and we'll talk about it," Peter says. 

Talking about it is the last thing Stiles wants to do. He can feel himself shrinking back from the idea. "Please, Daddy."

Peter's eyebrows go up and then he smiles. "Okay. But we still need you warmed up. Do you want a warm bath?"

Stiles doesn't have to think about it. "I can shower."

"With Daddy's help?" Peter asks.

Stiles shakes his head. "I can do it," he says. "Just... don't go far." He bites his lip. "Can you sit in the bathroom while I shower?" He knows it's needy but he feels so much better when Peter's close.

Peter just nods. "Go ahead and start the water and I'll go get you some clean clothes. Any preferences?"

Stiles could ask for something soft but still adultish, but he doesn't want to be a grown up. He wants to be able to let go. "My ninja PJs?" It's a shortie pajama set with cartoon ninjas on it. They aren't his favorite (those would be his rocketship PJs) but the ninjas are playful and fun. Stiles wants to be able to have fun, and telling Peter he wants the ninja PJs tells him that, too.

Peter gives him a kiss on his forehead and nods. "Sure, sweetheart."

Peter is true to his word and sits on the closed toilet as Stiles showers. He's ready with a big fluffy towel when Stiles steps out. Stiles lets him dry him and then help him into his PJs. He leans against Peter for a moment. Peter slips an arm around him. Stiles isn't really shorter than Peter but when he slumps like this, when he scrunches down little, Peter can easily hook his chin over the top of Stiles's head.

"All warmed up now?" Peter runs a hand through Stiles's still-damp hair.

Stiles smiles up at him and tugs him out into the living room. "Can we play?" He's got a tight grip on Peter's hand but he can open his toybox with his other hand and look inside. "Where's Stark?"

"Try your room, baby," Peter says, amusement in his voice.

"Thanks, Daddy!" Stiles calls on his way to his bedroom. Sure enough, Stark the fox and his new wolf friend are sitting on the bed waiting for Stiles.

Stiles bounces around as his knees hit the bed. He picks up Stark first and gives him a hug. Then he looks at the fuzzy black wolf. He doesn't have a name yet. Stiles is still thinking of a good one.

Peter leans in the doorframe. "Are we playing in here or in the living room?"

"Living room!" Stiles calls, because duh. He grabs the wolf plushie and takes him and Stark with him back to the toybox.

They play for about an hour, and then Stiles's eyelids are drooping.

"Tired, sweetheart?" Peter doesn't seem surprised when Stiles climbs into his lap. 

"Yeah." Stiles sighs and rests his head against Peter's shoulder.

"Can we go to bed to take a nap?" Peter runs his fingers through Stiles's messy hair. "We'll both get sore if we try sleeping in here."

Stiles thinks about that for a moment. Then he nods. "Carry me."

Peter huffs a laugh. "Okay, little darling. I can do that."

"Don't forget Stark and Pan!"

"Oh, you named your wolf?" Peter asks as he gathers the plushies and carries everyone into the master suite.

"Mm hm." Stiles tightens his hold around Peter's neck. "Like Peter Pan."

"The little boy who didn't want to grow up." Peter sounds pleased. He deposits Stiles and his plushies on the bed. "Nap now?"

Stiles makes grabby hands at Peter. "Not without my daddy."

Peter lies down and Stiles immediately rolls into his arms, against the warm shelter of his body.

"Long day for you," Peter murmurs.

"Yuck. No talk. Sleeping." Stiles shuts his eyes and blocks out the rest of the world.

"Okay, sweetheart."

Stiles just has one more thing to say. "Love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, Stiles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving this marked as complete for now, but I may come back again. Actually I probably definitely will.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked, please leave a comment to let me know!


End file.
